


i'll fucking digest you (one kiss at a time)

by hearthouses



Category: From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series
Genre: Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Bloodplay, Codependency, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Sibling Incest, Symbiotic Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-19 14:24:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20211229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearthouses/pseuds/hearthouses
Summary: Post-S2.Richie and his goddamn rules drawing up boundaries, lines in the sand, borders Seth isn’t allowed to cross, still fucking keeping secrets even after everything, even after Seth decided to stay. Seth has never listened, Richie should know that by now, a rule like a challenge to Seth, a race to see how quickly before he can break it.Seth gets more than a little fixated on the new way Richie has to eat.





	i'll fucking digest you (one kiss at a time)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scorpiod](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiod/gifts).

> Title taken from _Lurk_ by The Neighbourhood.

It’s not intimate. 

_ It is, _Seth thinks, watching Richie gnaw at the guy’s neck, strung up by his arms, Richie holding his face away as he feeds—sucking, groaning, licking, with their bodies pressed up close.

_ It’s clinical_, Richie tells him, like it means nothing, tries to make Seth feel better, soothe the sharp ache of anger burning up through his gut— _ I have to, it’s not like I have another choice _. 

Seth always holds his tongue, knowing they both know what he wants to say—_ you fucking have me, brother _ —but it’s not feasible, not realistic; Richie’s excuses are logical and clean, straight and narrow, but it doesn’t stop Seth from wanting, doesn’t stop him from begging some nights when Richie’s inside him, mouthing it against his shoulder as his nails tear at his brother's back— _ take me, eat me, consume me, I’m all fucking yours, born for it, remember? _

The guy deserves it, Richie always makes sure they do—only eats the worst of the worst, the peacekeeper bringing him meals that come with a laundry list of crimes, worse than anything they’ve done, worse than anything Seth is capable of. 

(_I’m bad_, Seth moans in Richie’s ear, climbing into his lap after he feeds, hoping he’s still hungry, hoping he wants a little more, _I went to prison, too._ _I’m fucking fucked up, brother—don’t I qualify as your choice of delicacy? A good steak, at least. _

But Richie doesn’t give him teeth, only lips and tongue, a hand gripping his hair, pulling his head back as Richie licks up the line of his throat. 

_ You’re better_, Richie tells him, hand sliding into his pants, fingers curling around Seth and squeezing hard. 

_ I could gorge myself on you, baby brother_, he says, swallowing Seth’s cry when he comes, sudden and hard, shuddering in Richie’s lap, barely touched like he’s still a goddamn kid, sucking on Richie’s tongue and tasting someone’s else’s blood in his mouth.) 

Richie’s hard when he makes his way over to Seth, pressing him against the wall as Seth’s fists curl, body tense, ready to hit, ready to shove—it’s always been fight for him, never knowing when to take off. But Richie’s mouth on his ear make him melt, lips still sticky from his meal, smearing across Seth’s neck as Richie grabs his wrist and uncurls his fingers, sliding his hand down to cup his cock, Richie’s hips jerking into Seth’s palm. 

“It’s for you,” Richie says, Seth feeling the sharp pinch of his fangs breaking skin—just a tease, like Richie rubbing his cock where Seth ant it, but not giving it to him, not breaking him open. “You watching—god, I can’t help it when you watch.” 

Seth likes Richie like this, wild and loose, fresh from the kill, blood hot and high, filling his gut, making him forget his senses, makes him forget his control--only Seth used to be able to do that, but lately, he hasn’t been able to get that control to snap yet. 

Especially not in his favor. 

  
  
  
  
  


His skin itches, pointed and frantic, all over his body, like his scales have gone dry and started shedding, peeling where Seth’s eyes rake him, watching without blinking, sitting on the edge of a bar stool, spine straight—not Seth’s typical posture, too rigid, not enough relaxation or limbs sprawled and draped. 

“You gonna do it, or what?” Seth asks, drawing Richie’s gaze to his. The look in his eyes sets his guts on fire, insides twisting as it burns. Seth’s tongue swipes across his bottom lip, teeth rolling out to sink into the flesh for a moment as Richie’s fangs descend, slicing through his gums. 

He doesn’t know why Seth likes to be present, not when he made the effort to keep him away from it, made a room just so he could do it in private, far away from his brother's eyes to keep up a facade, trick Seth into thinking nothing’s changed. But Seth found his room, and kept prying until he began to stay, hovering on the edge of the room as Richie transforms, sliding into his snake skin until the illusion cracks and shatters.

“This isn’t a private show for you,” Richie hisses, can’t help it, looking between his brother and the trembling man tied to the chair in front of him. “I have to do it, I don’t do it for shits and giggles.” 

Seth makes a noise, sounding a bit like a snort, but too rough, a little too low—more like a growl. “Oh please, Richard, you know there are other options.” Seth’s eyes go sharp, stabbing right through Richie. 

Richie lets the thought hang in the air, swallowing past his dry throat—painful as his muscles contract, rubbing and aching as they work, pulling his eyes from Seth’s and focusing in on the man tied to the chair, already smelling of piss and shit. 

It’s kind of a thrill, reducing dipshits like this down to base fear, make them the prey when they spent their whole lives preying on others—diddling little kids, murdering them, raping women, teenage boys, anyone smaller than them. Richie tries not to enjoy it so much, but it feels good, taking one more monster out of the world, the least he can do to make up for what he is. 

“So what did this one do?” Seth scoots his stool closer, legs scraping against the wood floor. “They always have done something, right? That’s your type, isn’t it? You like their souls a little dirty, I’ve noticed.” 

“Shut up,” Richie says, his hands curling into fists, his talons digging into the palms of his hands, blood sticky-slick dripping through his fingers. His control is fraying, energy low, defenses down. “Shut the fuck up, or I’ll do you next.” 

Seth gasps, letting out a low moan, his heartbeat picking up, thumping full and heavy. “Only if you promise.” Seth pulls his lower lip into his mouth, sucking on it, looking up at Richie with warm, hooded eyes—a look Richie knows, has known since he was thirteen and Seth slid his hand into his pants for the first time. 

Richie snaps forward, launching himself at the man in the chair, tearing out his throat as his claws tear into his shoulders, more vicious than he normally acts, more violent and messy, twisting his head back and forth, groaning and growling as he consumes him, blood and flesh, fangs snapping bone, feeling his bodily fluids get all over his face, stain his suit—he won’t look human when Richie is done, just a pile of torn flesh and exposed bone. Richie keeps the bile down when the memories wash over him, fill his head, looking at terrified small faces through his eyes, the only thing strong enough to make his dick wilt and drain. 

Seth is still there when he looks up, still sitting there when Richie doesn’t let his scales recede, looking at him with yellow, slitted eyes, covered in the pieces of the man he tore into and devoured, his corpse still slumped in the chair, dripping and smelling. 

“That what you want, brother?” he asks Seth, feeling bits and pieces of the man dry and cling, blood making his clothes heavy—Seth holds his gaze, but keeps his mouth shut. Richie can pick up the tempo of his heart, jackrabbiting, pumping all his blood down south. Richie wonders if he should feel sick, smelling his brother’s arousal pushing back his fear, smothering it until it dies.

  
  
  


Seth isn’t supposed to be down here—those are _the rules. _

Richie and his goddamn rules drawing up boundaries, lines in the sand, borders Seth isn’t allowed to cross, still fucking keeping secrets even after everything, even after Seth decided to stay. Seth has never listened, Richie should know that by now, a rule like a challenge to Seth, a race to see how quickly before he can break it. 

Seth follows the pair of culebras given the duty of bringing Richie his supper ten steps behind, keeping to the shadows, light on his feet—it’s another bound felon, someone Richie researched, making sure he had done wrong, Richie judge and jury and playing God all at once, just to fill his stomach. Seth wonders why Richie has such a taste for criminals, if it eases his conscience or something else, something that gnaws at Seth’s insides, burning in his guts, then spoiling under the heat of his anger, making him sick with it. 

(sometimes he wants to beg, get down on his knees and plead with Richie, the memory of that first time still haunting his dreams, the marks still aching under black ink, making him twist in his too empty bed, waking up sticky like he was still thirteen—_ you can handcuff me, gag me, pretend I’m just prisoner dragged here to be your meal, but please please please _— 

he’s half-hard already, cock growing in his underwear with every step)

Richie never wastes much time, once they set the poor fucker in the chair in front of him—waits only for his procurers to leave before he unravels and shows his true face—yellow eyes gleaming under the dim overhead light, scales erupting where smooth skin once was, fangs popping out in a way that makes Seth shiver. He’s pressed to the wall, hoping Richie can’t smell him, can’t hear him as his hand goes for his belt, unbuckling himself and opening his pants. 

He has to be quick, shoving his hand in his underwear before Richie strikes, gripping his cock—hard now, achingly so—and starting to stroke as Richie launches himself at his easy prey, fangs tearing him open with a sickening sound that makes Seth bite his tongue to keep from moaning as his hips jerk, peering over his shoulder as the carnage, the gross wet sounds of Richie sucking and slurping his dinner thudding through his cock, making his work his hand faster, squeeze harder. 

Seth comes as Richie finishes, as the felon falls limp, Richie leaving him an empty sack of meat, blood dripping over his chin as Seth covers his mouth with his free hand, biting into his palm as he comes, orgasm shaking through him making his knees weak, leaning on the wall to stay upright as his underwear fills, wet and sticky. 

His own blood is hot on his tongue. 

  
  
  


Seth never knew how to take no for an answer, from the time he was a kid until today, twirling a knife in his hand like Richie couldn’t just tear into him with his teeth, like Richie couldn’t break him open just like that, his teeth razor sharp slicing open his tongue, groaning at the taste of his own blood for a moment before the muscle knits up and heals. 

“Just do it, Richard,” Seth says, twisting the blade against his forearm, careful to stroke it upwards instead of across, light on the pressure, just enough to leave a thin red line that begins to darken and drip, hot cinnamon scent on the air, invading Richie’s nose. “Better me than someone else. God, don’t make me—” Seth’s voice cuts off, a sharp smothered noise coming from his throat, sounding almost as desperate as Richie quickened breath. “—don’t make me beg for it, brother,” Seth finishes, holding Richie’s gaze, his eyes dark as his eyelids hang heavy, lashes thick as he looks up at Richie with his cheeks ruddy and his heart thudding in Richie’s ears. 

(_ you’ve begged for it before _ , Richie thinks, but won’t say it out loud; they don’t talk about it, the way Seth crawls into his bed at night or into his lap at his desk, or pushes at Richie until Richie shoves him back against the wall, squirming above him or under him, arching up, throat bared, panting _ please please please _as Richie buries himself inside his brother, swallowing up his moans and sucking on his lips, trying to keep his teeth squared, trying to keep from biting what’s offered to him, knowing it’ll only make things worse, knowing Seth can’t want what he asks for;

but he can’t help thinking about it, especially now with the cold and Seth’s skin warm against his, Seth’s living body keeping his bed comfortable, sleeping with him more nights than not, making Richie’s throat burn and the hunger twist in his gut, but he wouldn’t take, not like that, keeps his control with his face pressed against Seth’s shoulder, going to sleep holding his warmth against him) 

Richie feels the skin of his back ripple, his fangs already dropped, trying to keep his gaze on Seth and not on the cut on his arm, not on his brother’s blood bleeding free down his golden skin, the sight rousing his dick, a slow sickening arousal flooding is body. “No,” he says once, a weak sound, the lightest protest and quickest lie. 

No doesn’t mean much when Seth crosses the distance between them and presses his body to Richie’s, leaning up to brush his lips against Richie’s, a soft kiss that propels Richie forward, grabbing Seth’s hips and lifting him onto his desk. Richie shoves between his thighs as his hands move up Seth's back to his neck to the back of Seth’s head, fingers tangling in his air as he yanks on it, pulling Seth’s head back to get to what he wants. 

He bites into the side of Seth’s neck without ink, breaking the smooth skin there, adding a matching set of marks that will be visible, not hidden by black flames, scars only felt with fingertips, like searching for Seth’s pulse. Seth gasps and moans, rocking his hips against Richie, body warming Richie up as his hot blood spills across his tongue, flowing down his throat as Richie feels Seth’s cock nudging his hip, grinding against the bone—_you want this, you fucking want this _, he thinks, a dark part of his mind knowing he could devour Seth whole and Seth would let him, that Seth would lay down for it like a sacrifice. 

Seth’s blood is sticky under his palm as he runs his hand down Seth’s arm, rubbing it into his skin, painting Seth red with it, staining his hands with it, toying with the split edges of his skin as he sucks at his neck, careful to count the pace of his heart, making sure to stop when it starts to slow. Seth whimpers when he pulls off, trying to yank him back down, trying to get Richie to latch again, but Richie catches his hands, and holds his gaze. 

Seth looks wild, hair a mess and eyes blown wide, lips as red as his neck from his blunt teeth, staring up at Richie like he could seduce him into feeding from him again, just with that look. Richie lifts his wrist instead, leaning towards the mess he left across Seth’s arm as his tongue flickers out, lapping at Seth’s blood-slick skin, licking up the spill over, not letting it go to waste. 

“Finally,” Seth breathes out, making Richie’s stomach lurch, but he can’t pull his mouth away, sucking along the path Seth made for him. 

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi to me on [tumblr](http://richiesseth.tumblr.com)!


End file.
